Need to Know
by Micky Fine
Summary: A body at the Lincoln Memorial pulls Booth and Brennan into an old case from Brennan's past that will send them to Cuba and challenge the boundaries of their relationship. BB
1. One

Greetings and salutations. Welcome to my latest venture into the land of fanfiction. This story has been rolling around in my head for over a year now but I wanted to make sure I had a definite ending in mind before I started writing. Now that I have one, I hope you'll enjoy the beginnings of this multi-chap fic. For those of you crying out, "What about _The Last Time She Got Away_?" I have no definite answer. While I would desperately like to finish it, the story has stalled in my head. If it ever is restarted, I'll be just as excited as you will. But enough with the rambling. On to the story.

**Need to Know**

**One**

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. A fair trade. Two unbearable evenings made slightly less unbearable by the other's company. But now, staring across the crowded ballroom, Seeley Booth couldn't help but think that this was nothing but self-inflicted torture. Then again, it wasn't entirely self-inflicted. She had helped. In fact, the whole damn thing was her fault. Well, maybe it wasn't so much her fault as Cam's. Yes, he would blame it on Cam. That was the safest alternative.

After all, if it hadn't been for that stupid Jeffersonian fundraiser he would never have ended up in this mess. Instead, here he was, thirty seconds away from hitting at least five different men. And while it would make him feel better, it would only last a span of about thirty seconds before one Temperance Brennan would then proceed to kick his own ass. Not a pleasant scene. Particularly in front of a group of FBI agents, politicians, and the social elite. So, with a resigned sigh, Booth reclined in his chair and watched as a small group of men clamoured for the attention of his partner. She would need to eat soon and then she'd be sitting next to him and he could actually spend some time with her, which he knew would then have the intended effect of making his evening better.

Several seconds later, Bones did indeed excuse herself from the group with whom she had been standing and who quickly dissipated after her departure. Watching the auburn-haired forensic anthropologist make her way towards him, Booth allowed himself the small luxury of appreciating her appearance. At the FBI's Annual Black and White Ball, it was easy to blend in with the crowd but he could pick out his partner effortlessly. Her dress was white, the skirt lightly skimming the marble floor in spite of her black spike heels. A wide, black velvet ribbon with a dangling gold pendant was tied around her neck, making her alabaster skin glow in contrast. However, what had caught the eye of almost every man in the place was the plunging v-neckline at the front of the dress, rivalled only by the matching v-cut at the back. She was stunning and Booth inwardly admitted that the evening was worth it if only for the sight of her in that dress.

Finally reaching their table, Temperance set her handbag beside her place setting and sunk into her chair with a sigh.

"Hey," Booth greeted.

"Hey," she returned.

"Hungry?"

"Starving. Any sign of the food yet?"

"No, unfortunately. Not a single rubber chicken in sight."

"Rubber chicken?" Brennan queried, her brow furrowed slightly.

"It's an expression, Bones. Just means the food at these kinds of things is usually not that great. Don't you remember the salmon from the Jeffersonian fundraiser you made me go to?"

"First of all, you know I didn't have the salmon. Second of all, I did not make you go, Booth. You agreed to go to the Jeffersonian party with me if I promised to come to this with you. It was a fair exchange."

"I wouldn't exactly call it fair. I spent most of the evening trying to keep you from falling over."

"Can I help it if I was jetlagged from my trip to Peru?"

"Umm, yeah, it might have helped if you had slept at some point during your time in South America."

"I slept."

"Oh I'm sorry, it just seemed to me that the two hours a day you got didn't really help you out when I had to keep you from kissing the concrete floor in the lab."

"I was not that bad."

"You were too."

"Was not."

"Were too."

"Was... oh this is ridiculously childish."

"Maybe, but it is entertaining."

"Are you saying you picked a fight with me for entertainment?"

"More as a means of distracting myself from my hunger. Have to say that it worked too."

"I'm glad I could be so accommodating," Temperance said wryly.

Booth shot her a charm smile and then rubbed his hands together in anticipation as he spotted waiters beginning to circulate with plates of food. It was about time.

Waiting for her plate to arrive, Temperance watched people filtering to their own tables. She and Booth were sharing a table with another FBI agent and his wife as well as Dr. Sweets and his latest girlfriend. While Brennan had learned to tolerate the younger man, she knew she'd probably have to restrain Booth from strangling the psychologist before dessert. An evening with her partner was never dull she had to admit. After the other couples had seated themselves at the table, a waiter quickly appeared with a plate of chicken dinners as well as the vegetarian option for Brennan. Lifting her fork, she was about to dig in to her stir-fry when a familiar voice interrupted her.

"Temperance is that you?"

Twisting in her seat, Temperance smiled widely.

"Greg! It's wonderful to see you," she rose from her seat and hugged the taller man with sandy hair. She could feel Booth's gaze on her back but ignored it. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know how word gets around about my chequebook."

"Yes, I believe it made an appearance at the Jeffersonian event a couple weeks ago."

"It did. Although I didn't see you there."

Behind her, she heard Booth mutter, "That's because she and the floor were having a private moment."

She shot him a glare and then turned back to Greg, "Yes, I had just returned from Peru and was a little jetlagged. I was keeping a low profile."

Booth watched as Greg's eyes briefly dropped to the neckline of Brennan's gown. Perfect, now his list had gone up to six.

"Well, I hope you won't keep too low of a profile tonight. Maybe I'll stop by your table later..." Greg trailed off as he suddenly caught sight of the laser-intense glare Booth was shooting his way.

"That would be lovely," Brennan prompted and smiled as Greg pecked her on the cheek and then wandered off, ensuring to give Booth a wide berth.

Returning to her seat, she glanced at Sweets whose gaze was fixed on her partner. Turning to gaze at Booth herself, she recognized all the signs of the alpha-male preparing to defend his territory. Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered if her choice of dress had been the wisest. Angela had helped her in her decision the last time they had gone shopping and now she wondered if this had been her best friend's intent. Thinking about it for a few seconds more she had a feeling that this was definitely what Angela had wanted. Making a mental note to scold her best friend for her meddling, she turned her attention to attempting to improve the situation.

"That was Greg," she said to Booth.

"I heard. How do you know him?" he asked, attempting to keep all the jealousy out of his voice. While Brennan might not notice, Sweets definitely would and he didn't want to spend the next three weeks of therapy discussing this evening.

"He was my lab partner in organic chemistry one year at college."

"You date?"

"Briefly."

"Who broke it off?"

"I did."

"Mmm. He's hoping for a reunion."

"Booth, stop. Eat your chicken."

Booth briefly looked at her as if he wanted to argue more, but catching sight of Sweets' inquiring gaze held back. They could always argue on the ride back to her apartment.

The two spent the rest of the meal talking amicably with the rest of their table and Booth had to admit, if only to himself, that he was enjoying himself. Especially with his gorgeous partner smiling at him radiantly, her cerulean eyes sparkling. It was his favourite smile. While he knew many considered his charm smile the most powerful on the planet, he knew that a single smile from his partner could make him melt. And he did not melt easily.

When the plates had been cleared away, the live band struck up a faster number and Booth watched with trepidation as a small crowd of the most eligible bachelors of both the FBI and the Washington, D.C. elite descended on their table. The corners of his mouth turned down when Greg arrived first and Brennan readily agreed to dance. He knew that Brennan enjoyed dancing and would never be rude enough to turn down any polite invitation, especially from someone who had readily donated to the Jeffersonian and was likely to contribute to the FBI, but Booth was incapable of tamping down the jealousy that surged through him at the thought of her dancing with one of her exes. His eyes followed her back as Greg led her to the floor and he would have continued to watch them with a hawk-like gaze were it not for the sound of a certain young psychologist clearing his throat. He whipped his head around to see Sweets levelling an analytical look at him. He stifled a groan. That look could only mean that he was about to be on the receiving end of some "deep insight".

"Agent Booth," the psychologist began.

"Sweets," Booth ground out, his gaze briefly straying to where he had last seen Brennan, ensuring that Greg's hands were still on Bones' waist and hadn't wandered before he returned his attention to the man next to him.

"You seem a little tense, Agent Booth. Any particular reason?"

"Other than you're grilling me and watching my every move, no, I have no reason to be tense."

"Really? Because it seems to me that every time any good-looking, single man comes near Dr. Brennan..."

Booth cut off the younger man before he could continue in the hopes of preventing a conversation Booth didn't want to have.

"Sweets?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you sitting at this table?"

"Because it was where the seating chart had me."

"Yes, but did you have any influence over the person making the seating chart?"

"I might have made a call and asked to be seated with you and Dr. Brennan," Sweets admitted cautiously.

"Why?"

"I wanted to observe you in a social situation outside of work."

"I thought we did that at ceramics. Not to mention that Bones and I took you bowling."

"True enough, but when we went to ceramics I was a little absorbed with my own problems with April. As for bowling, my memories from that evening are a little fuzzy as you got me stinking drunk. Although I do have vague recollections of Dr. Brennan being frustrated that a strike was bad in baseball and good in bowling."

Booth snorted. Bones had had a rather entertaining rant on that point. Of course, his favourite memory from that evening was the sight of his partner granny bowling, her very shapely behind appearing at a very nice viewing angle. Booth shook his head to clear it of those particular memories and refocused on his shrink.

"Fine. So you want to observe us. That's great. I admire your tenacity. But for tonight could you just stick to the observing and leave the comments and psychobabble for our next session."

Sweets quirked his eyebrow at the word psychobabble but nodded his head in assent. Booth sighed at his victory and leaned back briefly in his chair until the band switched to a slow song. His eyes shot back to the dance floor and his partner. She was still dancing with Greg who had pulled her a little too close for Booth's liking. He made a sound that could only be likened to a growl, stood up, and began to make his way to the floor.

While the song was slow, Greg made the mistake of letting go of Brennan for a spin and Booth seized the moment in the same way he had during their trip to Aurora. Booth caught Brennan in his arms, which he quickly wrapped around her waist. Greg, with a look of defeat, made his way off the dance floor. Booth grinned triumphantly until he looked down and saw the glare that a certain forensic anthropologist was shooting at him.

"What?" he asked, his voice rising defensively.

"Was that really necessary?"

"I wanted to dance with you. Greg let you go. You snooze, you lose."

"Yet more playground wisdom."

"Oh come on, Bones. Is dancing with me so bad?"

"I didn't say that. In fact, I'm almost glad you cut in when you did. Greg has two left feet and he's bruised at least one of my toes."

"Ah. Want me to go kick his ass?" Booth asked teasingly.

"No thanks," Brennan said and then rested her head on his shoulder.

Booth smiled and allowed himself to tighten his arms around her almost imperceptibly. Swaying back and forth on the dance floor to "That's All" with his very lovely partner in his arms, Booth could feel the tension seep out of him and he finally began to truly have a good time. That was until he heard the woman in his arms attempt to muffle a yawn.

"Is my company that bad, Bones?"

"No, Booth, it's not the company. You're actually a very good dance partner. You lead very well."

"Thank you. But you did yawn and if it wasn't the company, then what was it?"

"I was up a little late working with some remains last night."

"And by a little late you mean?"

"Three in the morning."

"And we had that meeting with the judge at seven this morning."

"Yes."

"Bones," Booth began in an admonitory tone.

"Oh, don't worry, Booth. I've run on less."

"You don't have to tell me. I was at the Jeffersonian fundraiser when you came back from Peru remember? I was just going to say that you're slightly better company when you've had more sleep."

"Only slightly?"

"Fine, much better."

"That's more like it."

"You want to skip out of here early?"

"Mmm, two more dances."

"Who have you got lined up?" Booth asked, peering around and desperately trying to keep the jealousy out of his voice.

"Well, I was going to dance them with you unless you have some other women "lined up" as you put it."

"No, I don't have anyone lined up."

"Good. So two more dances?"

"Deal."

Brennan settled her head back on Booth's shoulder and thus missed his pleased grin at the thought that his partner was willing to stay longer just to dance with him. His smile widened further when he remembered that it was because he was a good dancer.

The next song was slow also and Booth had just settled his hands on the expanse of bare skin near Brennan's lower back when he spied an agent from the Bureau making his way purposefully towards the dance floor. Inevitably, he stopped next to Booth and his partner.

"Special Agent Booth?"

"No," Booth said stubbornly. "I have the night off."

Brennan broke away from Booth's arms to turn and look at the newly arrived agent.

"I know that sir, but you and Dr. Brennan were especially requested."

"There must be some mistake," Bones interjected. "Dr. Addy is supposed to respond to any needs for a forensic anthropologist tonight."

The agent nodded, "Yes, but it's Dr. Addy who asked that you be sent for."

Brennan looked at Booth who proceeded to sigh.

"Fine, where are we off to?" Booth asked, sticking his hand in his pocket to retrieve his car keys.

"The Lincoln Memorial," the agent replied and then disappeared back into the crowd.

_A slow start I know but I had a desperate desire to write some mildly fluffy stuff before we get into the heavy and cliffhanger-ridden story to come. Drop my muse and me a line and let us know what you think. We'll take anything._


	2. Two

Thank you to all who read and/or reviewed the last chapter. Each and every one was greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: They're not mine and that fact saddens me deeply.

**Two**

Booth waited while Brennan grabbed her wrap and handbag from the table and then placed his hand in the accustomed place on the small of her back as he led her out of the brilliantly lit ballroom at The Mayflower into the more dimly lit hallway and outside to the parking valet. He handed the teenager his ticket and then stuck his hands in his pockets. He watched Bones as she pulled her black silk wrap closely around her shoulders. It was late April and although the cherry trees had begun to blossom there was a chill in the damp air. The streets and sidewalks shone brightly under the streetlights from the rain that had fallen earlier in the day. He bounced on the balls of his feet eager for the valet to return with the car. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Brennan shiver slightly and was about to offer her his tuxedo jacket when the teenage driver pulled the SUV up in front of them with a screeching halt. The kid clambered out and handed the keys to Booth who then went around to the passenger side and opened the door for his partner.

"Booth, you really don't have to open doors for me," she said as she gathered her skirts into one hand and climbed into the black Escalade.

"My father raised me to be a gentleman and gentlemen open doors for ladies. Deal with it," Booth replied and then shut the door.

He jogged around the car and slid into the driver's seat, turning the key in the ignition almost simultaneously. Flipping the switch that activated the lights and sirens, he pulled smoothly into traffic and sped towards the Lincoln Memorial.

"So much for our night off," he commented wryly.

"You weren't really enjoying yourself that much anyway so it's not like leaving early is a huge sacrifice," Brennan said, her attention focused on the light dancing across the water of the Potomac.

"I was having a good time dancing with you," Booth said quietly, not entirely sure if he wanted his partner to hear him admit that fact.

"I was too," she said, turning her head to give him a soft smile.

Booth was about to open his mouth and suggest they try doing it again some time when Brennan spoke again.

"We're here."

Booth focused and realised that his partner was correct. The short drive had been hastened by his speed and now the structure of the Lincoln Memorial loomed before them. The flashing red and blue lights from an assortment of Park Police and FBI vehicles parked around the monument lent a garish tone to the otherwise peaceful evening. Booth pulled in behind another FBI SUV and quickly got out of the car, running around the front of the vehicle to open the passenger door before Brennan could even undo her seatbelt. They exchanged looks but said nothing. Brennan clambered down, her skirts lifted out of the way, exposing her bare feet in a pair of strappy black stilettos. She paused and surveyed the scene before her.

The large statue of the seated Lincoln was usually lit by several large spotlights, but several more lights on tripods that made the white structure glow warmly now augmented the lighting. The FBI had already set up crime scene tape at the base of the steps and she could see a small crowd of tourists who had ostensibly come to see the Mall at night peering up towards the statue of the former President. She could also see a large group of individuals milling around inside the monument wearing a mixture of FBI jackets and Jeffersonian jumpsuits but was unable to spot where the remains might be. Shrugging, she turned back to the SUV and went to open the back of the vehicle.

"Damn, I forgot," she said after she had done so.

Booth came up beside her, his bow tie already pulled loose and hanging down on either side of his neck.

"Oh yeah, I did too."

The trunk space of the Escalade was almost bare. There was only a pair of bulletproof vests, one machine gun, some latex gloves and a few evidence bags. This contrasted with how the trunk usually appeared when stuffed with everything that the pair required for any case. This aberration was the result of the fact that Booth was about to get a new car. He had been told to clear out his vehicle in preparation and so he and Brennan had taken out all of the paraphernalia that they usually carried with them, including a change of clothes for Booth, a Jeffersonian jumpsuit for Brennan, as well as the forensic kit that usually held all of the tools Brennan would need for a case.

Turning to again survey his partner in her revealing ball gown and flimsy shoes Booth felt his brow crease in worry.

"You want to go to the Jeffersonian and then come back? That outfit isn't really ideal for working a crime scene."

Brennan shook her head, "It's fine. We're here now. Besides, Zack is in charge of the scene. He probably only called me here to consult."

"Ok, you're the boss," Booth said, noting the grin that slid across Bones' face at those words. "For now," he qualified.

She shot him a look and then began to stride quickly towards the crime scene. As he lifted the crime scene tape for her to duck under, he asked softly, "You want my jacket? It's cold tonight."

He received yet another look of exasperation as she replied quickly, "Booth, I've told you before, if I want something..."

"You ask for it," he finished for her. "Just double checking."

She raised an eyebrow at him and then began to climb the stairs upwards toward the gargantuan figure of Lincoln who loomed over her. She couldn't resist letting her eyes rest for a moment on the step where she and Booth had lounged while she had attempted to sober him up before sending him home one evening. A smile graced her face briefly that only Booth saw and recognised as it mirrored the grin on his own face. But then his expression changed to the one he always wore when approaching a crime scene, an intense look of determination.

Zack was waiting for them at the top of the stairs. Before he could speak, Booth called out, "Ok Zack, what's so important that you had us dragged out of the fundraiser?"

"We have a set of remains," the newly-minted anthropologist began but failed to continue. Booth almost laughed at the realisation that he wasn't the only one who could be rendered speechless by his partner's appearance that evening.

Zack swallowed, "Dr. Brennan, I must say that that look really works for you."

Booth rolled his eyes but then caught sight of several other agents inside the monument all eyeing his partner appreciatively. It was like the fundraiser all over again. His list of asses to kick had now doubled. He pursed his lips in displeasure and turned back to Zack. It really had been easier when they hadn't spoken.

"Zack," he prompted sharply, "the remains."

"Oh yes."

"Where are they?" Temperance asked, slipping on a pair of latex gloves she had grabbed from the Escalade.

"I doubt you will be able to view them given your current choice of clothing and footwear," Zack said.

"Perhaps. Where are they?" Bones looked around, eager to give her opinion and then go home.

"Up there," Zack said and then pointed to the large expanse of marble that was Lincoln's lap.

Booth and Brennan craned their necks upward to look but neither could see the remains from their current position.

"Guess Zack is right," Booth said dryly and then looked over at his partner, "there's no way you're going to climb up there in that get up."

"Thank you, Booth," Brennan replied sarcastically and then turned her full attention to her colleague. "Zack, I assume you had me brought here due to the difficulties of retrieval and evidence collection?"

"Yes, Dr. Brennan."

"What condition are the remains in?"

"I haven't been up there yet, but the man who called the FBI indicated that they had been burned."

Temperance raised an eyebrow. Once again, she examined the scene before her and noticed for the first time the scaffolding set up next to Lincoln's left leg.

"You'll be using that to get up there I assume," she said, nodding her head in the direction of the scaffolding.

"Yes. That was how the body was discovered. It was erected for a crew to clean the statue with lasers," Zack began to explain.

"Hang on," Booth interrupted. "They use lasers to clean the Lincoln Memorial? I thought lasers were just for squint stuff and, you know, trying to kill off James Bond."

"No Booth," Brennan corrected him. "Lasers are commonly used to clean many older structures. They're used extensively throughout Europe on the exteriors of cathedrals such as Notre Dame in Paris."

"Hmm. Are these really intense laser beams? Could they have killed our guy?" Booth asked.

"Unlikely," Zack interjected. "At any rate, a worker came in to dismantle the scaffolding this evening and caught sight of the remains. And now we're here."

"Indeed," Brennan said, her gaze again drawn up to Lincoln's weathered face.

She turned her attention back to Zack and they began to discuss how to approach and collect the remains, all of which Booth tuned out in favour of surveying the scene before him. Given that the lasers weren't strong enough to kill someone that left out accidental death. Which then forced him to ask the question: who would go through the trouble of dragging a body up the scaffolding and onto the Lincoln statue? The killer had obviously wanted the remains to be found; otherwise, he never would have left them in such a public place. There was also a decent chance that the murderer had wanted the FBI to investigate, as he had chosen a national landmark. It was shaping up to be a bizarre case. He tuned back in to the squints before him and found them fitting Zack up with a camera mounted on a helmet. The images would then be relayed back to a monitor that had been set up on the ground where Temperance could watch and advise her assistant on what to do via the headset also connected to the helmet.

Meanwhile, an enormous team of FBI and Jeffersonian forensics experts were swarming over the monument, collecting fingerprints, footprints, and a plethora of other types of physical evidence. Given that the Memorial was a public site and a significant tourist draw, it was unlikely they would find anything useful but they would collect everything they could find anyway. Booth didn't envy the person responsible for cataloguing and examining the thousands of items that the forensics team would compile over the course of the night.

Temperance tugged gently on his sleeve, pulling him out of his thoughts and towards the monitor. Booth got bored quickly however, as the only images they were getting was shaky shots of the scaffolding and the side of the statue.

"Not a great climber, is he?" Booth commented aloud.

"Zack is afraid of heights," Bones said chidingly.

"Then why in the hell did he volunteer to go up there?" Booth queried sharply.

"Because I can't."

Booth had no immediate reply for that. He'd had his share of facing down his own fears in order to prove useful to his partner. And while shooting a psychotic killer clown was extremely different from climbing a simple scaffold, Booth could almost relate to what Zack was facing. Almost.

"You know, with the fear of heights and the refusal to drive a car it's a wonder that the girls don't flock to him," Booth finally said derisively.

Brennan pursed her lips in disapproval of Booth's mockery of her colleague and was about to shoot back a response when the pair were interrupted.

"Agent Booth?" a familiar voice called out.

"What's up Charlie?" Booth said as he wandered away from Brennan and towards the other agent.

"I didn't know you would be here, it being your night off for the banquet and all. If I had known, I wouldn't have interviewed the guy who found the body."

"Don't worry about it," Booth replied. "I'm only here because Dr. Addy needed some help from Dr. Brennan. Otherwise, I'd still be waltzing with beautiful women and schmoozing with the mucky-mucks. Did you get anything useful from the guy?"

"Not really. The cleaning crew left at five, he didn't get here until almost nine, and he didn't notice anything unusual other than the crispy critter in Abe's lap."

"I dislike the use of the term 'crispy critter'," Temperance said hotly. Booth started at her voice, having failed to notice her approach. It had always baffled him how stealthy women could be, even when wearing big high heels.

"I apologize," Charlie said, his eyes raking up and down the forensic anthropologist's silk-clad body. Booth frowned discouragingly.

"Thank you," Bones replied, unconscious of being scoped out. She turned to Booth, "Zack's at the top of the scaffold now. We should be getting some views of the body soon."

"Great," Booth said, rubbing his hands together. "So you take a quick look, tell Zack what kind of Ziploc to use, and then we can get out of here."

"What happened to my being the boss?" Temperance asked with amusement. "I didn't get any input in that plan at all."

"That was a limited time offer which has now lapsed," Booth said with a grin. "Thus, we revert back to me being the boss."

"I thought we were partners."

"We are. I'm just the only one of us with the gun, so I get the final word."

Brennan rolled her eyes. Booth got a little ridiculous when he was tired. Apparently, she wasn't the only one who needed to go to bed soon.

"I consent to your plan. For now."

"If that's the best you got, I'll take it," Booth replied with a grin.

Temperance shook her head at him and then strolled back to the monitors, Booth close behind her. The video footage was far less shaky now. Zack had moved from the top of the scaffolding onto the edge of Lincoln's chair and the charred remains were just visible at the edge of the screen. Booth immediately realised that this video would not prove useful to his portion of the investigation. To him it was simply a blackened skeleton resting in the lap of Lincoln. Other than a burn pattern on the marble, there was nothing else to see, as far as he was concerned. He turned his attention to Temperance, knowing that her reactions would prove more useful.

As Zack moved closer to the remains, the images on the screen were clearer and Brennan frowned. There was something about the remains that caused the hair on her arms to stand up, although she tried to convince herself it was only the night air. Zack finally came into close proximity with the bones and began to take pictures. His voice came out clearly from the speaker next to the monitor but Temperance wasn't listening. Her eyes were fixed on the television and they widened imperceptibly as Zack stood over the remains and looked down. The configuration of the remains was horrifyingly familiar. She made an indistinguishable sound deep in her throat and felt herself pale slightly.

"You ok, Bones?" Booth asked, noting the changes.

"Fine," she replied, her voice distant.

It couldn't be. They had promised her that she wouldn't have to deal with this. Yet here it was again, right on her doorstep. She couldn't believe it. Bastards.

"You sure?" Booth pressed, noting the brief spurt of flame in her eyes that indicated anger.

"Yes, thank you."

Booth's eyes narrowed. She was being too polite, her voice to precise. Something was going on with her and the remains.

"You see everything you need to?" he pushed, suddenly eager to get her out of there.

"Just a few more minutes please," she asked without looking at him and then spoke into the microphone that connected with Zack's headset.

"How's it look, Zack?"

"Intriguing. The bones are lying in a way I have never seen before. It appears almost as if there was a cord stretched from the victim's wrists to his ankles in order to keep him in this C shape."

"Interesting. The remains are male?"

"Yes, 28-35 years of age. Hispanic descent."

Booth watched the images of the bones grow larger on the screen as Zack kneeled over them.

"There's a very strong scent coming from the remains. It might be from the accelerant that was used."

"Was he alive when he was set on fire?" Booth asked, leaning over Temperance's shoulder to bring his mouth closer to the microphone.

"Difficult to determine. We'll need to bring the remains back to the Jeffersonian to check for any other sources of trauma before I can give you a definitive answer."

"Ok, Zack," Temperance broke back in, "I want you to thoroughly document the scene in photographs before you move the remains. They're going to set up a platform on a pulley system for you to put the bones on when you're ready to move them for analysis at the Jeffersonian."

"What about the rest of the scene?"

"Try not to disturb it. We'll have Jack come in and collect any particulates and any other evidence from up there."

"Any other instructions?"

"No Zack, you'll be fine. I'll see you at the Jeffersonian."

"Yes, Dr. Brennan."

Bones whirled away from the microphone and the monitor so quickly that she nearly collided with Booth.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you," she replied. Her voice was still distant, the way it sounded when she was pulling a problem apart in her head and only giving him a fraction of her attention. Booth desperately wanted to prod her again and ask what was wrong but decided against it. She'd tell him soon enough.

"Great, so do you want to grab a coffee or something before we head back to your apartment?"

Temperance had been tightening her wrap about her shoulders as they descended the stairs of the memorial on their way back to the car, but at this question she stopped and stared at Booth as if he had grown another head.

"I'm not going back to my apartment. I need to go to the lab."

"Bones, c'mon. Zack can handle the remains until you get there in the morning. You're exhausted. Let me take you home."

"No," she barked shortly. "I am going to the lab. Now if you won't take me, I'll just call a cab," she continued, descending the last few steps and striding off towards the SUV defiantly.

Booth felt his temper rise slightly. The lightning quick changes in his partner's moods were enough to make any man want to strangle her. Walking more quickly, he passed the anthropologist in front him and opened the passenger door for her before she could reach it. As she climbed inside, he replied shortly, "There's no need to bite my head off."

"I didn't," she shot back icily.

Booth took out his growing anger on the car, slamming the door with more force than was necessary, and then stalked around to the driver's side. After closing his own door, he turned to face Brennan.

"What is going on with you?" he demanded accusatorily. "We were having a perfectly nice evening until you saw the remains."

She remained archly silent, her eyes focused on something out the window.

"Bones, look at me."

She did.

"What's up? You saw those bones and suddenly you're different a person. Have you seen something like this before?"

"No," she shot back defiantly but her eyes failed to hold contact with his.

"Why did you just lie to me?" he demanded, his temper rising further.

Temperance paused, weighing the idea of lying again but realising it would do more harm than good.

Her voice was quieter when she answered, "I can't tell you."

_Ooooh, who doesn't love having secrets? I definitely do. Anyways, what do you think? Good or bad, I'd love to hear from you. Just press that tiny button and you will elicit squeals of happiness._


	3. Three

Huge thanks for all of your reviews. I appreciated each and every one. And I apologize for the lack of updating, but with all the curveballs the show has been throwing, it's hard for a fic writer to keep up. Hope it was worth the wait. As a side note, while I had no problems with the finale, the revelation concerning Zach as Apprentice is going to be ignored in this story, simply because I'm too lazy to go back and edit the previous two chapters. Everything else in this story will remain within the realms of the show's canon.

Disclaimer: The guys who own them are doing a fantastic job with them but I still want to play too.

**Three**

"What the hell do you mean you can't tell me?" Booth questioned, his anger evident in his tone.

Fire flashed in Temperance's eyes when she replied, "Exactly that." She then turned her face away again and gazed unseeingly out the passenger side window.

Booth clenched his fists. Only this woman was capable of provoking him like this. He desperately wanted to shake her just once and demand to know why she was lying but knew he'd only end up with broken arms. If he was lucky. He was counting to ten in his head when she broke the silence again.

"So do I need to call a cab?"

"No," Booth's voice was tense, the single word drawn out slowly, evidence that he was desperately trying to control his temper. He turned the key in the ignition, put the car in gear and pulled away from the crime scene.

The drive to the Jeffersonian was silent and both Booth and Brennan were each lost in their own thoughts. Had Booth not been so immersed in his frustration and outrage he would have almost been able to hear the wheels of his partner's brain turning methodically. She was so engrossed in making a mental list of all of the things she had to do once she arrived at the lab that she didn't notice Booth's knuckles were white from holding the steering wheel too tightly.

Booth pulled up in front of the lab and waited. But the passenger door didn't immediately swing open and then slam closed again. Turning to look at his partner in surprise, he was met with an all too familiar sight. Her expression was abstracted, her eyes fixed on some unseen point, all indicators of deep thought. He was tempted to just switch off the Escalade and wait to see how long it would take Brennan to realize they had arrived at her precious lab but knew that if this was as big a problem as her previous behaviour had signalled, he could end up waiting for over an hour. Instead, he simply cleared his throat loudly causing Bones to start. She blinked, recognised where she was, and almost simultaneously undid her seatbelt and opened her door. She had slid out and was standing between the car and door before Booth had managed to open his mouth.

"Should I come in?"

"No. I won't need you until tomorrow at the earliest."

"Will you call me or should I just drop by?"

"Whatever you think is best," Temperance replied and shut the door. Her response had been distant and Booth knew she hadn't really listened to his question. He felt his temper rise again and he clenched the steering wheel in a death grip. He watched as she waved at the night guard on duty and strode through the doors into Medico-legal wing of the Jeffersonian. Despite his anger, he was struck by the contrast of the soft femininity of Brennan's appearance in her ball gown and the hard, isolated, no-nonsense scientist who lurked within. He had worked so hard to get these two sides of his partner to meet, to be less exclusive, and after nights like this one, he questioned whether he'd made any progress at all. Shaking his head and sighing, he put the SUV into reverse, pulled out of the parking lot, and headed home. He'd been dismissed for the evening and he didn't have the energy to fight it.

Morning found Seeley Booth in a reconciliatory mood. The verse, do not let the sun go down upon your anger, had gone through his mind that morning and left him feeling guilty. So after completing his usual wake-up routine, he swung past Bones' favourite coffee shop and picked her up a grande. Knowing her, she had probably crashed on her office couch during the early hours of the morning. Having awoken her a few times previously in similar situations, he knew it was always better to come bearing coffee.

He was whistling when he strode confidently into the Jeffersonian lab. Today could only be better than yesterday. He stopped whistling mid-note however when he surveyed the sight before him. Zack, Cam, Angela, and Jack were gathered in a cluster at Jack's workstation. They appeared to be disagreeing about something and every once in a while Angela would shoot a worried glance in the direction of Brennan's office. Following her eyes, Booth was met with an unfamiliar sight. The blinds were drawn and closed over every single window in Brennan's office, even her glass office door. Maybe today wasn't going to be so great.

He approached the squint squad and raised an eyebrow when Cam vehemently said, "We can't wait on her forever. The remains have been in our possession for almost 12 hours and all we've done is have Zack lay them out on an examination table. I am the head of this department and as such I am ordering you, Zack, to begin processing these remains."

"Respectfully, Dr. Saroyan, I refuse. Dr. Brennan indicated to me that these remains were only to be worked on by her and I refuse to violate her wishes," Zach replied.

"What the hell is going on here?" Booth shot in.

Angela heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of him, "Booth, you have no idea how happy I am to see you."

"I repeat my question, what the hell is going on here?"

"We don't know. We were kind of hoping you would have some idea," Cam replied. "You were the last to see Dr. Brennan."

"Is she missing?"

"No, she's just practically barricaded herself in her office," Angela replied.

"Yeah, I noticed that. She been in there all night?"

"That's what Ted, the night guard, said. She came in to the lab, went straight to her office, and hasn't left since," Cam answered.

"Maybe she just fell asleep. Anyone try calling her?"

"Every 15 minutes for the past hour," Angela chimed in again. "Her office phone is busy and her cell goes straight to voicemail."

Booth nodded and was silent for a few moments. Four sets of eyes watched his face intensely as he turned everything over in his mind. He wondered when he'd become the substitute figurehead for Brennan's team. It was ironic really. Bones would never approve, as his guts could never replace her logic. But that was beside the point.

"Ok, this might be too obvious, but has anyone actually tried knocking on her door?"

The four squints exchanged slightly uncomfortable looks.

"I'll take that as a no," Booth said dryly. Squaring his shoulders, he turned back to face his partner's office and strode towards the door. He could hear the squints behind him moving almost as one behind him. Still holding the disposable coffee cup in his left hand, Booth raised the other and knocked firmly on the glass door.

He listened closely and thought he heard the sounds of papers shuffling and a metallic clang, before his partner's voice called out, "Who is it?"

"It's me, Bones. I come bearing coffee."

He heard the sound of the lock turning back and then Bones called out, "Come in."

He turned to the group behind him. "If I'm still in there after two hours, call SWAT," he joked and then went through the door.

The sight that met his eyes was not at all what he had expected. Bones was seated on her couch, still in her ball gown. A few strands of hair had fallen out of her up-do and fallen to frame her face. Her eyes were slightly bloodshot as she looked up at him blearily. The table before her held a now-empty coffee mug and there was a legal pad next to it. While it was obvious she had been taking notes of some kind, it was unclear where she had stashed them. Her office appeared just as it had the day before, with the exception that her office phone was off the hook.

He was staring at his partner wordlessly for several minutes when she finally worked up enough energy to break the silence.

"Can I have my coffee?"

"Hmm? Oh, sure, here."

Brennan took a deep swallow and made a sound of satisfaction. She continued drinking until the cup was drained while Booth watched silently. She got up, put it in the garbage can, and returned to her place on the couch. Booth sat next to her but remained silent.

"Are you going to ask me?" she finally asked.

"Ask you what?"

"What I was doing all night in my office?"

"Can you give me an honest answer?"

"Not really."

"That's what I figured."

They were silent for several more minutes.

"So what can you tell me?" Booth questioned, his gaze focused on the mummy in the corner rather than the woman beside him.

"I've only been given permission to tell you that I have seen remains like these before and to aid you in your investigation."

"Who gave you permission?"

"A federal agency."

"Not the FBI?"

"No."

"Where have you seen the other remains like this?"

"I can't say."

"Ok, see, that right there is not providing aid to my investigation."

"Booth," Brennan sighed, her tone exasperated. "It's the best I can do right now. I haven't been given permission to let you inside on this yet. I'm trying. It took me a considerable amount of effort to convince them to even let you investigate."

"Well, thanks for that," Booth said dryly.

"You're welcome."

They continued to sit in silence for a while.

"Maybe we should start our investigation," Brennan finally suggested.

"Yeah that's a good idea. What do you want to do?"

"Sleep."

"Brilliant."

The two rose at the same time, Brennan losing her balance in her high heels. Booth steadied her with a hand on her arm but didn't let go after she had regained her balance. He led her out of her office where they were forced to stop due to the group of squints who blocked their way. All of them opened their mouths to speak but stopped when Booth gave a brief shake of his head.

"Zack, please x-ray the remains. When Cam and Hodgins have collected all that they require, clean the bones. Document any anomalies. Hodgins, when you're done collecting any particulates from the remains, go to the crime scene. See what you can discover from the burn pattern and any other evidence you find. Angela, hold off on a facial reconstruction for now. I want to look at the skull before Zack puts on tissue markers for you," Bones requested quietly.

With that, she began to move again, Booth following behind.

"Sweetie, where are you going?" Angela called out, her tone worried.

"To bed," Brennan replied without turning back to face her friends.

The squint squad watched the pair as they exited the lab, Booth's hand resting in the familiar spot at the small of her back. Angela arched an eyebrow.

"Do you think she's taking Booth to bed with her?"

And there it is. I apologize for it being a little bit shorter than usual but I promise the next chapter will be longer and much quicker in coming to you. So drop me and my muse a line. We enjoy all of your comments and they help spur us forward.


	4. Four

Thank you to everyone who reviewed (and to everyone who didn't) for reading. Hope it's a pleasurable experience because all of your notes sure made my day!

Disclaimer: I keep wishin' and hopin' but they still don't belong to me.

**Four**

It started the same as always. The audience cheered for her as she climbed up the few steps to the stage with the piano playing the familiar song in the background. Like all the times before she tried to turn around, to back down, to remain in that empty seat next to his but she moved forward inexorably. The mike was suddenly in her hand and although she tried to shout a warning, nothing came out but the lyrics that she had memorised as a teen. Her friends were laughing and clapping, Booth was being ridiculous in that charming way he had as he waved a lighter in the air. None of them noticed that she was panicked and fear stricken. She knew what was coming next. The room was suddenly empty now, only she, Booth and a faceless third person were in the room. The music continued to play although the piano itself had disappeared. Now she waited, frozen. An indistinct sound that issued from the individual behind Booth caused him turn, but now he turned slowly, as though he were under water. Brennan turned wide eyes to the blurred figure at the back of the room, watched as the pistol was raised in slow motion and now the face of the third person was clear. But unlike every other time, the face that met her gaze was not that of the psychotically enraged Pam Noonan but a man whose face was also burned in her memory. His darkly tanned face was pulled into a smile, a stray dark curl fallen over his brow. His black eyes met hers and his grin widened as he pulled the trigger.

"No!" Brennan shouted as she sat up suddenly, her cerulean eyes shooting open.

The dark confines of her bedroom greeted her and she quickly realised that she was not back at the Checker Box. Her back was damp with a cold sweat and she had to focus to bring her breathing back to a steady, even tempo. She glanced at her alarm clock where 2:07 a.m. glowed warmly on the digital readout. Too early to get up. She padded to her ensuite bathroom and filled a glass she kept on the counter with cool water. She took a few swallows and then returned to bed. The nightmares of Booth being shot were nothing new. She had perfected the art of coping with them and usually was able to go back to sleep shortly after she had one. But this new ending was an unexpected twist. Obviously, the case was already getting to her and she dreaded what else her unconscious mind would dredge up in her dreams. She hated that she was being pulled back into a reality that she had worked so hard to put behind her. But the silent call of the remains to find his identity, to find his killer, pushed her onward despite her personal feelings and concerns.

Settling back against her pillows, she attempted to put all thoughts of the case out of her mind and go back to sleep, pulling the sheet and blankets up under her chin. She had just rolled onto her side and closed her eyes when the phone she kept next to her bed rang shrilly. Sighing, she rolled back over and picked it up on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Temperance," a male voice said.

"Jake," she breathed with a sense of relief.

"I called as soon as I got in. Sorry it took so long."

"I don't care about that. Did they tell you?"

"Yes."

"Jake, you swore this wouldn't happen."

"I thought it wouldn't. I thought it was impossible."

"Did you know this was coming?"

"I swear to you, Tempe, I had no idea."

"Do you know who it is?"

"No, he must have gone around me with this one."

"I thought you were high up now."

"I am, but he still does all of this ridiculous left hand and right hand stuff."

"Right."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a few moments.

"How are you holding up?" he finally asked.

"I'm fine. I'm still very adept at compartmentalization."

"Yeah. So you'll call me when you get an ID?"

"Immediately."

"Good, that's good. Well, I should let you go. I'm sorry if I woke you."

"You didn't."

"Good. Well then..."

"Jake?"

"Yeah?"

"Do they want me to go back?"

"No. Not right now. We still don't know where they are and without the location there's no point in you going down there."

"Ok."

"Ok."

Again, Jake paused, the silence heavy with things he still desperately wanted to say. But instead all that came out was a very tender, "Good night, Tempe."

"Good night."

Brennan hung up the phone gently. She considered getting up despite the hour but her mind still felt fuzzy with exhaustion and she turned back over again. She'd get more work done if she was fully rested.

The next time Brennan awoke, it was with the sunshine full on her face and the smell of brewing coffee wafting through her apartment. As she did a lazy cat-like stretch, she sniffed the air more forcefully and another scent came to her nose that caused her to sit up. Someone was cooking eggs in her kitchen.

Pulling on her robe, she wandered down the short the hallway into the kitchen and was met with an unexpected sight. Special Agent Seeley Booth was standing in her kitchen, holding her favourite spatula, and cooking what looked like an omelette. His black suit jacket was hung neatly on the back of one of her dining chairs along with his shoulder holster that held his FBI standard-issue handgun. The sleeves of his pale blue dress shirt were rolled up the elbow, his neck and some of his chest exposed due to the undone top three buttons. She was mildly fascinated as she watched the muscles of his forearm flex when he flipped the eggs over and continued his tuneless humming. The oddest element of the entire scenario was that she didn't find it odd to find her partner in her kitchen looking completely at home. In fact, it felt perfectly normal.

"You're not wearing a tie," she finally said.

Booth didn't even start. "It's in my coat pocket. It's easier to cook without it."

Brennan nodded and yawned.

"Breakfast won't be ready for another ten minutes or so if you want to get dressed," Booth said, keeping his eyes on the pan in front of him. It was safer to focus on the eggs than to stare at his partner who still managed to look amazing with bed head and wearing a fluffy teal robe.

She nodded and headed back down the hallway. She had showered the night before and thus, went straight to her closet pulling out her favourite pair of jeans, an army green tank top and a tan corduroy blazer. Grabbing a necklace made of large wooden beads off her dresser, she went into her bathroom where she ran a brush through her slightly curled hair and put on a bit of make-up. Returning to the kitchen, she arrived just in time to see Booth pouring cream in her coffee.

"Good morning by the way," he said without turning to look at her. She wondered sometimes how he knew she was there when he hadn't even seen her but somehow knew that she wasn't ready for the answer.

"Morning," she returned and sat down. Booth went back to the kitchen and grabbed the mug he had long claimed as his own, filling it with coffee as well, and then joining her at the table. Brennan gazed at her plate hungrily. Booth had indeed made her a vegetable omelette with two slices of wheat toast on the side. In addition to her coffee, there was also a large glass of milk at her place and a small glass of orange juice. It was like one of those breakfasts she had seen in commercials as a kid.

"Dig in," Booth said, holding his own fork in his hand and motioning for her to do the same.

Brennan took a mouthful and immediately made a sound of satisfaction when the food touched her tongue. Booth grinned widely with self-satisfaction and turned his full attention to his breakfast. The pair ate in comfortable silence. Brennan was so engrossed in her first meal in over twelve hours that she was initially utterly oblivious to the fact that Booth was studying her. His dark brown eyes were roving over her face, checking for any sign that she was still tired, that the case had begun to bother her more than usual, but there was nothing unusual there. He knew the planes of her face better than his own, could understand the slightest eyebrow twitch, knew all the various shades of blue and green that her eyes could be. It terrified him sometimes.

"Booth?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think you could stop staring? You're not as surreptitious as you think."

"Oh, um, yeah," Booth replied, grabbing his milk and taking a large swallow.

Brennan smirked. Sometimes it was too easy to unnerve him. The rest of the meal passed by in unbroken silence.

Taking one last bite, she set down her fork, finished her coffee, and leaned back in her chair.

"So what did everyone discover yesterday?" she finally asked.

"You held that in one for almost an hour. I'm impressed," Booth said with a smile and then wiped his mouth with a napkin.

"You didn't answer the question."

"I know. I was hoping I could enjoy the last of my coffee."

"You can't enjoy your coffee and answer my question at the same time?"

"Not so much."

Brennan sighed, crossed her arms, and pointedly glanced at Booth's mug. He lifted it to his lips but then put it back on the table.

"Ok, I cannot enjoy my coffee when you're looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you might just pour it down my throat to hurry up the process."

"Well, what do you want me to do?"

"Stop staring at me like that."

Brennan rolled her eyes but got up, collected the empty plates and glasses, and took them to the sink. She shot a look at Booth over her shoulder who saluted her with his coffee mug and then took a miniscule sip. Shaking her head, she wandered back down the hallway towards her bedroom and grabbed the journal of forensic anthropology she had been reading the day before. Returning to the living room, she settled into her couch and tried to read. But her mind had already jumped into overdrive, going over her conversation with Jake, making a list of features to check for on the remains that would indicate whether this crime was indeed the same as the others she had seen.

Booth returned to watching his partner over the rim of his coffee mug. Her eyes had stopped moving over the words on the page before her and he knew that her brain had gone to light-speed, re-evaluating the case that lay ahead of them. He frowned. He hated being kept in the dark, hated to keep bumping up against walls marked "Classified", but most of all he hated what this case had already done to Bones. Her shoulders appeared to be holding up an invisible, immense weight and her eyes didn't sparkle at the thought of some new mystery to unravel. Instead, they were filled with poorly hidden dread. He desperately wanted to bring the sparkle back but didn't know how. Taking the last swallow of his lukewarm coffee, he sent down the mug with a clunk. Brennan looked up at him eagerly.

"Now will you tell me?"

"Mmm, only if you say please."

She rolled her eyes again but gave the required word, "Please."

"I'll let the squints tell you all the science stuff when we get to the lab, but here's what I've come up with so far," he said, pulling out the notebook he kept in the inside pocket of his suit jacket and joining her on the couch. "I talked to the guy who found the remains again but he didn't give me anything more than he already gave to Charlie. I talked to the Park Police who were supposed to be guarding the Memorial. There was a disturbance at the Washington Monument around 7:00 p.m. and they were down there helping out for almost an hour. Assumedly that's when our guy hauled up our victim into Lincoln's lap and turned him into a human torch."

"What kind of disturbance happened at the Washington Monument?"

Booth flipped through the pages of his notebook before he replied, "The cop I talked to wasn't really sure. It was a group of mostly men shouting in Spanish. Said it might have had something to do with the Cuban embargo. Anyway, a few of them got too close to the monument and started a shoving match with Police."

Brennan's eyebrows creased into a frown. "Were they taken into custody?"

"No. One of the men from the group talked the protestors and the Police down. It took a little while but they cleared it up peaceably. The group left a little after 8:00 p.m." Booth creased his eyebrows, "Wait, do you think that group was sent in intentionally to serve as a distraction while our crime was being committed?"

"I don't know," Brennan replied, but when Booth looked at her face he knew she thought exactly the same as him.

"Should we try tracking the group down?"

"No. It's a waste of time. If they were there intentionally as a diversion they're long gone by now."

"How do you know?"

"I just do. The people we're up against are very good at what they do."

"So are we, Bones," Booth said gently. "So are we."

Temperance swiped her card through the security post and climbed the steps up to the lab platform, fastening the last button on her blue lab coat as she did. Booth wasn't far behind her, and went over to one of the rails, leaning against it as he watched his partner approach the remains. It was one of his favourite times to observe her because she was so oblivious and so serenely beautiful at the same time. This was her home turf, the place where she was most comfortable and in control, and it enhanced her already natural beauty.

Brennan stood over the table where the bones lay and gazed at them with her own eyes for the first time. They were no longer black and charred, but instead an immaculate white that shone up brightly at her. She had always found first impressions to be the most important and accurate and as her eyes roved over the remains she took in all the obvious indicators. Male, mid-thirties, Hispanic, just as Zack had said two nights before. She also noted the signs of minor malnutrition, probably in childhood. A healed broken wrist, about seven years old. One of his ribs was cracked, perimortem. Finally, she picked up the skull in her hands. It grinned up at her inanely as she looked closer at its features. He had been handsome, with strong, broad planes to his face. Of course, the bullet hole through the centre of his frontal bone detracted from what would have been his good looks. The parietal and occipital bones were fragmented, indicating that the man had been shot at close range and that the projectile had exploded out the back of the skull. It had been a quick death.

"Dr. Brennan?" Zack said tentatively behind her.

She turned to see that her entire team had assembled quietly on the platform. All of them were looking at her with some level of concern. Looking over at Booth, she saw his expression matched those of the squints. She wondered what she could have possibly done to illicit such looks. Glancing at the clock on one of the nearby computers, she immediately realized why. She had been examining the remains for over half an hour without speaking once. Unusual behaviour for even her. She gave the group before her what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

"So what have you learned so far?" she asked.

The Jeffersonian employees exchanged glances and then Cam, after a silent group decision spoke first.

"As you know there wasn't much flesh left for me to work with. Fingerprints were impossible, but I did manage to collect enough material to test for DNA if we ever get anything to test it against. I did a tox screen and found traces of chloroform. At the very least our victim was subdued before he was killed. He might even have been abducted."

Hodgins spoke up next, "There was very little trace on the remains. Some burnt fibres from what was left of his clothes. The best find was the traces on our victim's wrists and ankles from the rope that was used to tie him into the C-shape in which Zack found him. It was a high-quality nylon climbing rope. I managed to narrow it down to a certain manufacture but unfortunately it's sold in over a dozen climbing stores in and around the D.C. area so it's going to be difficult to track down where our murderer might have bought it. Plus, we have so little left that even identifying the colour pattern on the rope is going to be tough."

Brennan nodded, "What did you find at the scene?"

Hodgins rubbed his hands together in growing excitement.

"That is where I found the best stuff. Old Abe had some great secrets in his lap. I collected some samples from the burn pattern on the marble and the accelerant used turned out to be kerosene. That's why the remains had such a distinctive odour."

Brennan arched an eyebrow, "Anything else?"

"I found some soil that I'm analysing now. So far nothing out of the ordinary but we might still get lucky."

Zack spoke up next, giving Brennan all the information she herself had noted in her examination of the remains. He also noted that the teeth had had some work done and that a gold cap on one of the anterior molars had been made with poorer quality metal than was typical for the United States, indicating that it had been done elsewhere.

Brennan stood silently for several moments, staring down at the remains. Finally she took the skull back in her hands and gave it to Zack.

"You can attach the tissue markers now and then give it to Angela. Call me when you've got a face. I'll be in my office."

The group watched as Brennan left the platform, walked over to her office, and closed the door. The blinds were still drawn from the day before and she didn't open them. The squints exchanged looks but Zack, Hodgins, and Cam quickly dissipated to their own work stations, leaving Angela and Booth alone on the platform.

"Is she ok?" Angela asked quietly.

"It's hard to tell."

"She's not as strong as she seems you know."

"I know. I'll watch out for her."

"Good."

_Not much in the way of drama, I know, but I promise there will be more soon. At any rate, drop me a line and let me know what you thought of this chapter. Good or bad, I'd love to hear from you._


	5. Five

Tremendous thanks to all of you who reviewed. Each one was appreciated. And thanks to all of you silent readers, I'm grateful for you too and hope the story is worth coming back for.

Disclaimer: I eagerly await their return to the small screen, but for now, I'm making do playing with them myself.

* * *

**Five**

Temperance lay on her back on the couch in her office staring unseeingly at the ceiling tiles above her. There were half a dozen files waiting for her in her inbox but for the first time in a long time she did not bury herself in her work. Her mind was running incessantly along one track. She had spent almost two hours examining every photograph and x-ray that Zack had taken of the remains. If she had had any doubts before this point, they were now obliterated. Every element was there for her to be able to definitively say that this murder fit the established pattern. This inevitable conclusion left her in a strange limbo. She knew precisely where this case was headed, knew almost exactly what would happen next, and yet she remained uneager to set events in motion. Of course, with a single phone call she could have the case taken from them, leaving everyone, including Booth, in the dark about what had transpired. But she couldn't do it. Booth deserved better and the remains needed her to fight for him. She was the voice for the deceased and if she refused to speak, no one else would.

A rap on the door interrupted her thoughts.

"Come in," she called, without moving.

"Bones?"

"Here," she replied, raising her arm in the air and waving her hand just a little. She arched her neck and waited for Booth to appear at the end of the couch. When he did, he gave her a small smile.

"And here, ladies and gentlemen, we find Dr. Temperance Brennan, best-selling author and forensic anthropologist, hard at work in the endless task that is counting ceiling tiles," he intoned in an announcer's voice.

"Funny," she replied and sat up. "Angela have a face?"

"Yup."

"Let's go."

Booth trailed just behind his partner as they walked the short distance from her office to that of the Jeffersonian's resident artist. He had spent the past several hours combing the FBI's unsolved case files for any murders that vaguely resembled this one. He had, unsurprisingly, come up empty-handed.

The pair entered Angela's darkened office and joined the rest of the team who had encircled the golden glow of the Angelator. Temperance gave a small nod to Angela who activated the display. Immediately, the image of a handsome, Hispanic man appeared overlaid on the digital representation of the skull. His eyes were large and dark, his nose rounded but not too large, but the most dominant feature was his strong jaw and cleft chin. Booth looked briefly at the face Angela had created but his gaze was immediately drawn to Brennan. Her eyes had widened as soon as she had seen the image and she lost some of the colour in her face. Her mouth moved in a soundless whisper and then, without warning, she turned on her heel and practically ran from the room.

On instinct, Booth followed her out the door and back down the hall towards her office. Brennan walked through the door and tried to shut it behind her but was unable to due to Booth's hand pushing the door in the opposite direction.

"Booth, not now," she huffed impatiently, her eyes burning with sudden passion.

"Yes, now. The only other time I've seen you react that way was when your mother's face showed up on the Angelator. What the hell is going on?"

"I've already told you, I can't tell you."

"Yeah, I really don't give a damn that a federal agency gave you a gag order. I want to know what has you running scared."

"I am not frightened," Temperance shot back fiercely, her eyes sparking.

"Yes, you are. What the hell is going on?"

"Until you figure it out, I can't tell you. Now let go of the door."

"Why? So you can hide out in your office for another fourteen hours?"

"No. I need to make a phone call."

"A phone call," Booth repeated incredulously.

"Yes. Go back to Angela's office. Assure everyone that I am fine and have Angela run the face through the federal employees' database."

"Federal employees? Not missing persons?"

"Trust me, Booth."

"I do."

"Good, now let go of the door."

Booth stared long and hard at the woman before him. She met his gaze evenly. Her eyes were still ablaze with anger and determination, but behind that he could see hints of fear, despite her arguments to the contrary. Nevertheless, he let go of the door and backed up so that she could close it. She did so without hesitation, leaving him in the hallway. He ran his hand over his face and laughed humourlessly. Convince the squints that she was fine? He doubted he could when he himself didn't believe it.

Meanwhile, Brennan, after listening at the door for retreating footsteps to ensure that Booth had indeed returned to Angela's office, rushed to her desk and picked up the phone, dialling the number she had memorised many years ago. It rang twice before anyone picked up.

"Hello?"

"Jake."

"Tempe. You have an ID?"

"It's Tony, Jake. It's Antonio."

"Shit," Jake swore.

The line was silent for several moments and Temperance could practically hear Jake thinking on the other end.

"I want to bring you in," he finally said.

"No," she replied shortly.

"Temperance," Jake said, the one word filled with exasperation.

"Don't Temperance me."

"If he got to Tony he might know who you are. And if he knows that..." Jake trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

"I am not going into hiding based on a maybe. That bastard will not force me to cower in fear in my own country. You figure out for sure whether he knows anything about me and then call me. We'll go from there. For right now, my partner needs me to help him figure out this case."

There was a long pause before Jake replied, "Fine. I don't like it, but fine. This partner of yours better be as good as you say he is. I'm having a hard time holding off the powers that be from swooping in and assuming control."

"I don't care. I work with Booth. And only Booth. I refuse to have to work with someone new from your institution."

"What if I were to fly up there to work the case?"

"You know as well as I do that you would never do that."

"Yeah."

"So you'll call me when you know more?" Brennan asked.

"First thing I'll do."

"Good."

"Talk to you soon."

"Bye, Jake."

* * *

Temperance leaned back in her chair with a sigh. Glancing at the clock on her computer she realized that it was almost six o'clock in the evening. The day had flown by and she suddenly realized she was hungry in addition to being mentally exhausted. She let her gaze rest on her inbox and she briefly considered delving into the work that awaited her there but once again she shrank away from it. This case would require everything she had to give and so she turned off the lamp at her desk and walked out of her office.

She poked her head into Angela's office and saw her best friend seated in front of the computer sketching while keeping one eye on the screen where the image she had created was being run against a database of federal employees.

"Where's Booth?"

Angela jumped at the unexpected voice.

"He went back to his office. Said something about checking into the protest at the Washington Monument a couple days ago."

"He won't find anything."

"How do you know?"

"I just do."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were operating on your gut."

"But you do know better."

"Yes. What are you doing now?"

"I was going to go for dinner and then go home."

"Really?"

"Yes, is that surprising?"

"Yes. Bren, sweetie, usually you're... forgive me for the cliché, you're like a dog with a bone when it comes to identifying remains. And from the way you reacted to my reconstruction I thought for sure that you'd be working relentlessly on this one."

"I just know where this case is going and I'm not really eager to get there."

"Why?"

"There are some things, Ange, that I can't confide. Even to you."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Just keep doing what you do. Constancy is the most reassuring element of life."

* * *

She was frozen with fear. The music in the background had stopped, the terrified screams of the crowd fading away as they disappeared from view. Her eyes, instead of being glued to Booth as he slowly rose from his seat, were riveted on the back of the room, on the face whose stark features were burned in her memory. She watched as he brushed at the stubborn curl on his forehead that refused to be tamed and lifted the pistol simultaneously. But instead of the crack of the weapon firing, she heard only a shrill ringing.

Temperance sat up quickly as the phone rang again. She took a deep breath and attempted to erase the images of the nightmare from her mind's eye. The phone rang a third time and as she picked up the handset she glanced at the red digital alarm clock that said it was a little after 5 a.m.

"I must say, Jake, I'm impressed. You're getting closer to calling at an almost human hour."

There was a brief pause before her partner's voice came over the line with the inevitable question of, "Who's Jake?"

"Booth," Brennan said, her voice just a semitone higher in surprise. "Why are you calling so early?"

"You didn't answer my question."

"Did you expect me to?"

"Given the current trend, not really, but I was hoping that catching you when you weren't quite awake might get you to slip up."

"You should know better."

"I should."

"Now as to my question..."

"We got a match on Angela's reconstruction. You were right, he was a Federal employee. His name was Marco Gonzales and he worked as an assistant to an illegal arms trading expert at the ATF."

"Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms," Brennan translated the acronym quietly and almost laughed at the irony. Tony working at ATF. Jake must have been involved in that placement.

"Yeah," Booth said, interrupting her train of thought. Anyway, I already talked to the expert he worked for. Said he had no idea who would want to kill Gonzales, that he was a pretty quiet guy. Did his job well, no beefs with any of his co-workers. His boss did mention that Gonzales also had a wife, Alandra. But from what he had heard, they were very happy. The weird thing is, the boss seemed really eager to get off the phone with me. I was thinking maybe we could pay him a visit in person. I have a feeling there's more going on there than he's letting on."

"No," Temperance replied quickly. Too quickly. She could practically hear Booth raising an eyebrow.

"Well then what do you think we should do?" he asked, curious as to what her answer would be.

"I think we should talk to the wife," she answered.

"Why?"

"I just do."

"I thought you weren't going to give any hints."

"I'm not, I'm simply pushing you in a direction that I want to go."

"Oh really?"

"Yes."

"Ok, leaving that alone for now, when would you like to interview Mrs. Gonzales?"

"How soon can you be here?"

* * *

Booth pulled to a halt in front of the small house in the quiet suburban neighbourhood just outside of D.C. There was one large tree that was in the process of springing into leaf in the front yard. There were flowerbeds on either side of the front steps where the first tulips of the season were blooming. He got out of his FBI-issued vehicle, buttoned the top button on his suit jacket and then joined Bones on the sidewalk. Looking down at her, he realized she seemed to be slightly anxious.

"Ready?" he asked quietly.

She nodded and they strode up the front walk together towards the door, Booth's hand resting lightly on his partner's back. He rang the bell and waited. This was one of his least favourite parts of the job. Informing the family of the victim that their spouse, sibling, or child would never be coming home was heart-rending. The fact that he had had nightmares in which various individuals came to tell him that Bones had died didn't make it any easier. The sound of the bolt turning back in the lock broke his train of thought and he straightened as a petite woman opened the door. Her eyes were red-rimmed and strands of her dark curly hair had fallen out of her loose ponytail. Despite the early hour, she didn't appear surprised to see him on her doorstep.

"Yes?" she said, her voice bearing considerable traces of a Spanish accent.

"Mrs. Gonzales?"

"Yes."

"I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth," he said flashing his badge, "and this is Dr. Temperance Brennan from the Jeffersonian Institute. Would it be alright if we came in to talk to you about your husband?"

Alandra Gonzales didn't reply immediately and Booth frowned as he realized that her dark eyes were focused in surprise on his partner who in turn was giving their victim's spouse a small smile of recognition.

"Hola, Alandra," Temperance said quietly.

"Hola," she repeated quietly.

"Mrs. Gonzales?" Booth prompted, suddenly feeling as if he was standing on the outside of something huge.

"My husband is dead, Agent Booth. His boss called me about an hour ago to tell me. I didn't do it. Why do you want to talk to me?" she asked in turn, her eyes once again on his face.

"We just have some questions about your husband's behaviour the past few weeks. Had he been acting differently? Or maybe you noticed someone unusual around your home recently?" Booth probed.

"Nothing like that. My husband did nothing out of the usual the past few days. Things at his job had been stressful the past few weeks and he'd been bringing work home from the office every night for about a week and a half now, but that wasn't uncommon for him. If you would like, you can go through the things in his office. Maybe you'll find something there."

Mrs. Gonzales stepped back from the door and allowed Booth and Brennan to enter. She gestured to the second door on the right down the narrow hallway and said, "That's Marco's office."

"Thank you," Booth said with a nod and started down the hall. He stopped and turned in surprise when he realized Bones wasn't following him.

"You coming, Bones?"

"I think I'll stay here and talk with Mrs. Gonzales."

"Ok," Booth said, his internal radar screaming at him that something was definitely going on. Nonetheless, he went into Gonzales office, leaving the door ajar behind him. He heard the two women begin to converse in Spanish as he poked through the papers on the desk in the small room. He quickly realized that he would be incapable of getting much of anything out of Gonzales' study. While the papers the man had brought home from the ATF were in English, his own hand-written notes were in Spanish, and high school Spanish had been much too far away for Booth to be able to read any of it. Then again, he might be wrong, he thought as he recognised "lanzador de granada" on one page. He'd learned the words for grenade launcher during his time with the Rangers. He left the office and went back down the hall to find Bones. He'd need her to translate more of the papers before he could get any idea of whether there would be any leads in Gonzales' notes. He noticed that the conversation between the two women had become more hushed since he'd enter Marco's office.

He entered the small living room where the two women were seated on opposite-facing couches, the narrow coffee table between them. Temperance was leaning forward towards Alandra, an intense expression on her face and Booth's eyes were drawn towards her just like any other time they were in the same room together.

He barely heard Alandra say in a voice that was almost a whisper, "Sé donde ellos son."

Brennan's reaction was dramatic in contrast with the delivery of the words. Her eyes widened and her colour heightened. For a brief moment she relaxed back against the couch but then she leaned further forward and spit out several questions in succession in Spanish. Alandra answered rapidly and then the two sat in silence, almost oblivious to Booth's presence during the exchange.

"Bones?" he said quietly after they had sat there unspeaking for almost five minutes.

She turned towards him, and her expression seemed to reflect that she had forgotten he was there with her.

"Everything ok?"

Her face creased in a frown, as if the question were the most difficult that had ever been asked of her.

"Difficult to say," she finally replied. Then she stood up abruptly, Mrs. Gonzales mirroring her actions. Booth realised that they were leaving although he had not been consulted nor did he understand why.

They returned to the front steps where Booth stood back as the two women traded what he assumed were parting pleasantries in Spanish. He remained silent as he and Bones walked back to the car and got in. Instead of fastening his seatbelt immediately, he turned to watch his partner. She appeared almost shell-shocked, her gaze fastened on some unseen object in front of her.

"Bones?" he prodded gently.

She shook her head gently and then turned her cerulean gaze back on his face.

"What does 'Sé donde ellos son' mean?" he asked.

"I know where they are," she translated.

"Where who is?"

"It's not a who, it's a what," Brennan corrected.

"Where what is then?"

"I need to go back to my apartment."

"Ok, I'm getting really tired of this whole you not answering my questions thing."

"I know you are," Temperance said sympathetically.

"Any idea when it'll be over?"

"Soon."

"You're sure? I don't even have any decent leads."

"You're not going to need any. This case just got pushed in an entirely different direction."

"What do you mean?"

"Just drop me off at my apartment."

Booth frowned but buckled himself in and started the engine.

"This better damn well be worth the wait," he muttered.

"I really don't know if it is," Brennan murmured under her breath.

* * *

Booth flipped through all the channels on his TV for the fourth time but still couldn't find anything that could hold his attention. Since dropping Bones off at her apartment, he'd spent most of the day trying to work the leads he'd gotten so far. Surprisingly, the round that had been recovered from Gonzales' skull had matched bullets used in an armed robbery a few months before. Of course, the robbery was unsolved and had yielded no further clues for Booth to go on, leaving him more frustrated than before. He would be so glad when the whole damn case was over. He was broken out of his train of thought by an insistent knock on his front door.

Getting up from the couch, he opened the door to reveal the one person he had least expected to see.

"Bones," he said, slightly shocked at her appearance on his front step.

"Booth," she said shortly and stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

"I didn't expect to see you again today," he said.

"Surprise," Brennan replied with dry humour.

"What's up?" Booth finally asked, when he realized that his partner was going to need some prompting.

"You have fifteen minutes to pack and let Rebecca know you won't be able to see Parker for the next two weeks."

_

* * *

_

Huzzah for cliffies! Hope this was worth the ridiculously long wait. I promise the next chapter won't be as long in coming. But now it's your turn for input. Lemme have whatever you've got. Any kind of comment is appreciated. Drop me a line. My muse will thank you.


	6. Six

I am the worst updater ever. I fully admit it and apologise. I'm hoping to improve. I'm also hoping to get up a new chapter of "The Last Time She Got Away" by either late this week or early next week. I want to thank all of you for your previous reviews and present the following for your continued enjoyment.

* * *

**Six**

"What the hell do you mean I have fifteen minutes?" Booth asked, staring at Bones as if she had lost her mind.

"Exactly that."

"Ok, that's it," Booth said, his voice tight with exasperation, "I've had it up to here with this whole no answer thing. I am not leaving my house until you explain what the hell is going on."

Temperance looked at him and cocked her head. There was a trace of a smile around her mouth as she replied, "Just because you say it in that definitive tone doesn't mean it means anything to me. Now where do you keep your overnight bag?"

Booth watched her as she turned away from him and went down the hall towards his bedroom. The woman was impossible. He quickly went after her.

"Alright," he began as he stood in the threshold of his bedroom watching as Bones searched in his closet for his carry-on bag, "I have to admit you throwing my own words back at me was witty but it doesn't change anything. I mean it, Bones. I've run out of patience. If you don't tell me what on earth is going on, I'm going to stay here."

"Booth, I can't tell you right now."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that when we get to a secure location, everything will be explained."

"What if I say that isn't enough?"

Temperance dropped the black shoulder bag she had dug out of his closet on top of his bed and stared at him. Both of their expressions were fierce and neither one was backing down. She drew a deep breath and finally replied, "If you refuse to come, then I'll have to leave without you."

And with that, she brushed past where he stood in the doorway and went back down the hallway, her spine straight, her shoulders squared. They rose and fell as she issued a sigh.

Booth heaved a sigh of his own. There wasn't a chance in hell he'd let Bones go wherever it was she was off to without him. Especially when he already knew that she was petrified. Despite all her attempts to mask it, he'd felt the fear coming off her in waves the moment she'd come in his front door.

"Bones, wait," he called out.

She halted at the end of the hallway and slowly turned to face him, a small spark of hope in her eyes.

"What should I be packing?"

Booth peered at Bones out of the corner of his eye. The past three hours had been a blur of activity. Bones had rushed him through packing some underwear and basic hygiene supplies. When he had asked about clothes, she had simply replied that they would be supplied. He'd known better at this point than to ask who would be doing the supplying. He'd then called Rebecca and spoken briefly to Parker who wasn't too upset that his father was going to be unavailable for the next couple of weeks as it meant he could have a sleepover with one of his friends from school.

Precisely fifteen minutes after Bones had knocked on his door, they were out on the sidewalk in front of his house loading his bag into the trunk of a black town car. Booth had raised an eyebrow at their new set of wheels but was unsurprised when it wasn't explained where the car had come from or to whom it belonged. The driver, who not once had turned around to face them, dropped them off shortly thereafter on the tarmac of a private airport. Retrieving their small carry-on bags from the trunk, he and Brennan had then boarded a small private jet. This was where he presently found himself, staring out the window into the darkness, with only the blinking light on the end of the wing to really look at. He glanced over briefly at his partner for the fifteenth time since they'd left the ground. She had spent most of the trip immersed in a large file she had removed from her bag shortly after takeoff, which she still wouldn't let him even peek at. There was a notepad nearby for any scribbling she seemed to feel necessary as well. Booth had read the notepad but it had meant almost nothing to him. It was filled with all of the scientific mumbo jumbo that Bones was constantly translating for him. Bones had promised him answers but he hadn't gotten any so far tonight.

He suddenly noticed the glimmer of city lights beneath them and then realized that they were getting nearer. As if to confirm his thoughts, the pilot came on the overhead speakers and announced that they would be landing shortly. Brennan quickly closed the folder and returned it to her bag. After fastening her seatbelt, she began to tap her fingers nervously on the armrest between her and Booth.

"You ok there, Bones?" Booth asked.

"Fine."

"You sure? You seem a little anxious," he prodded.

Brennan turned to face him and appeared ready to argue and then suddenly changed her mind.

"You are correct. I am slightly apprehensive about the direction in which this case is headed."

Booth relaxed slightly.

"It's about time," he said.

"What do you mean?" Brennan questioned, her brow creased perplexedly.

"That that's the first time since we started this case you've actually told me the truth about how you were feeling. You've been stonewalling me ever since we left the Lincoln Memorial. It's about time you let me back in."

Temperance gave him a small smile that he returned but before they could speak again, the plane touched down with a gentle bump. The jet taxied down the runway and instead of letting them out on the tarmac, it pulled into a large hangar. Booth noticed that the massive bay door to the hangar was closed before he and Bones were let off the plane. These people, whoever they were, were immensely paranoid.

He stood up and stretched and then grabbed his overnight bag from the seat across from him and trailed Bones as she disembarked from the aircraft. They descended the small flight of stairs and then stopped. Booth, who had been following Brennan's lead, glanced over at her. While there were a few people milling about she appeared uninterested in them and instead was peering around as if looking for someone in particular, which he supposed she was. A low wolf whistle to Booth's left caught both of their attentions.

Booth turned to see who had dared to whistle at his partner. The man who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere was about the same height as Booth, his straight brown hair slightly longer so that it almost hung in his blue eyes. His build was more lanky although Booth sensed that there was more lethal power to this man than initially met the eye. He was dressed simply in jeans and a black t-shirt, a look that would allow him to blend in easily with a crowd. His chiselled face was creased in a large grin aimed entirely at Bones and as Booth glanced over at his partner he realized that her expression mirrored that of the unknown newcomer. He felt his gut twist with the familiar sensation of jealousy. This reaction intensified when the man quickly covered the short distance between himself and Bones and enveloped her in an exuberant hug, lifting her off the ground and swinging her around, causing her to laugh. When he set her back down, the newcomer took a step back, looked Brennan up and down and finally spoke.

"Temperance, it's been much too long."

Bones smiled in return, "It has been a while."

The pair continued to grin at each other until Booth cleared his throat. Brennan started at the sound and then looked at Booth as if she had almost forgotten he was there.

"Oh, yes," she finally said. "Seeley Booth meet Jake Trent. Jake, this is Booth."

"Ah, the famous FBI agent," Jake said in a friendly manner, extending his hand to shake Booth's.

Booth smiled in return, although it was not quite genuine. The man was instantly likeable but Booth disliked the vibes he had gotten from the hug Jake had given Bones. It had been entirely too... familiar.

"I have to admit I still don't know who you are," Booth replied.

"Yeah, that was part of the deal we had made with Tempe. We didn't want her revealing anything about this case to anyone, seeing as it's still ongoing. For the moment anyway."

Booth swallowed another spurt of jealousy at Jake calling Bones Tempe. That was a certain indicator of intimacy.

"Ok, who is we? And what exactly is this case?" he asked.

Jake turned to Brennan, "You haven't told him yet?"

"I thought it better to wait until we were at a secure location. Besides, you're much more familiar with the current aspects of the case. It's been almost five years since I was involved."

Jake shook his head in amazement, "Has it really been five years?"

"Almost six. You must not be very good at your job if it's taken you this long," Temperance replied with a grin.

Booth stared in shock at his partner. Had she actually teased someone?

"That's just because you left," Jake shot back, causing Booth's face to go back to his previous expression of barely hidden disapproval.

"Ok, remember me? FBI agent, still out of the loop?" Booth interjected.

Jake faced him with an apologetic expression, "Of course, follow me."

Jake turned and led them across the interior of the hangar to a back office, his arm wrapped firmly around Brennan's shoulders in a possessive manner that set Booth's teeth on edge. The FBI agent's mood improved slightly when they approached a door with the blinds drawn across the half window and Jake was forced to let go of the forensic anthropologist. Jake went in first and then held the door open for the pair trailing behind him. Booth followed Bones into the rather dingy office space. All of the furniture looked well-used and the paint was faded. Booth made his way toward one of the beat-up chairs in front of the desk that took up most of the room but stopped when Bones cleared her throat.

"Sorry, Agent Booth," Jake said as he strode over to what looked like the closet, "we've got a bit further to go."

The other man then proceeded to open the door and shove the coats inside it aside revealing yet another door with a keypad lock. Quickly typing in a code, Jake once again held the door open for Booth and Brennan who descended down the curved steel staircase behind the door. Jake followed them, readjusting the coats and then shutting the door behind him.

"Tempe, you remember the way?" he called ahead.

"Yes," she replied shortly. She hurried down the stairs to the base where they passed through a set of sliding glass doors into a space roughly the same size as her lab back in Washington. Offices lined both sides of the large room with a series of bullpens set up in the open space. The room, despite the late hour, was still buzzing with the sounds of computers humming and low conversations taking place between dozens of people. The whole space had a slightly bluish tinge due to the fluorescent lighting and lack of windows. Booth quickly realised that they were now below the hangar they had stood in just a few minutes ago.

Although he was watching with interest all of the people and desks that they passed as they walked down the left side of the room, Temperance led the way without sparing a glance at anything until Booth nearly tripped over her when she halted abruptly. He looked around trying to determine what had stopped her and spotted the name on the office door to their left, Agent Jacob Trent, NSA.

"National Security?" he demanded incredulously.

"Yes, Agent Booth, National Security. Why don't we step into my office and I'll answer all of those questions you've been dying to ask?" Jake gestured and smiled in a friendly manner that Booth liked in spite of himself.

Stepping inside the threshold Booth found an office space very similar to his own. The desk was crowded with papers and files although the brass nameplate was still highly visible. On the wall behind the desk were photos of Trent with both 1950s era cars as well as various small airplanes. There were also a few framed sports clippings, all basketball, however, not hockey. Several filing cabinets lined the wall on the right and on top of them were what looked like family photos. Temperance glanced over at them as she seated herself in one of the two chairs in front of the desk.

"How's your sister?" she asked casually as Jake sidled around the desk and settled himself in the leather chair behind it.

"Still trying to convince me to settle down."

"No luck?"

"I have commitment issues."

"Says the man who's been working the same case for six years."

Booth broke in again before he was forced to witness more bantering between his Bones and the other man.

"And speaking of the case, what the hell are we doing here? And where exactly is here anyway?"

"Well, Booth, you're in one of our Miami field offices for the moment," Jake answered.

"For the moment?" Booth repeated questioningly.

"Yes. Agent Booth you're about to be read in on a covert operation the NSA has been running for the past six years. We've decided to include you, as a member of an outside agency, in this operation due to Dr Brennan's rather strident demands for us to do so as a condition for her continued participation."

Bones made a face at the word strident, which Booth noted, but she remained silent.

"So what's this op?"

"I, along with a few other select agents, have been attempting to collect enough evidence with which to indict an international arms dealer based in Cuba, by the name of Juan Guzman."

Booth felt his eyes widen in surprise.

"You want to indict him for weapons trading?"

"We know better than to even try for that. Guzman has very carefully distanced himself from any of the actual transactions. We've traced the weapons from his warehouses in Cuba to where they've been sold to various gangs in L.A. and Chicago among other locations and not once found any connection back to him. Even the money is well-laundered before it finds its way back to him."

"Then what are you trying to indict him for?"

"Murder. Six years ago a small group of Guzman's employees disappeared. Rumours ran rampant that he had caught wind of a spy and had eliminated all of the likely suspects. Unfortunately for us, one of these individuals was an NSA agent attempting to collect information on his arms business. A year later, one of Guzman's former lovers arrived in the United States on a raft and informed the government that she knew where the bodies could be found. The Agency quickly brought in one of the newest and brightest minds in forensic anthropology on the case and sent her to Cuba. Working undercover, she was able to begin recovering the remains. However, before any identification could take place she was caught at the site by one of Guzman's employees, taken into Guzman's custody and was kept in one of his compound for a few weeks. We eventually managed to extract her and bring her back to the United States with the aid of two of the staff from the compound who were promised safety and citizenship in the United States in exchange for their cooperation. Guzman's people reburied the remains in another location and the NSA was left attempting to find them back as well as continuing to monitor Guzman's operations.

"That was five years ago. Five days ago, you and Tempe found a set of remains at the Lincoln Memorial. She quickly realised that the configuration and condition of the bones was identical to the remains she had worked with in Cuba five years previously. The man you identified as Marco Gonzales was actually Antonio Morales, one of the two people that helped liberate Dr Brennan from Guzman's compound. The other was his wife, Maura, who you'd know better as Alandra Gonzales."

"Ok, interesting story, but all that it really tells me is that Guzman managed to order a hit on Morales and that you guys need to work on your witness protection program."

"Booth," Temperance finally spoke. "When we met with Maura yesterday... she told me where to find the remains."

"In your lab?"

"No, the remains that we lost five years ago."

"So what does this mean?"

"We're going to Cuba."

_

* * *

_

So what do you think? Should I go back into retirement or keep going? Any and all comments are appreciated and well-looked after.


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